Where The Heart Is
by enjambament
Summary: These walls hold fathomless hope, a glimpse of truth. An untested transportation spell lets Harry see his home as it was in 1981 but he must be careful not to interfere with the future. Is it enough to show him that home is where the heart is? RLSB JPLE
1. In Through a Window

Disclaimer: Don't Own

_Disclaimer: Don't Own. Don't Sue._

_Summary: These walls hold grief and love, fathomless, too deep for him to see, believe. An untested transportation spell gives Harry the chance to see the homes of James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius before 1981. But Harry isn't quite so practiced in the art of not interfering with the future._

_Takes place in Harry's fifth year. Slightly AU._

_Author's Note: Oooh, shiny, a chaptered story._

_Chapter Summary: _In which Harry learns of a new spell, and snoops through his childhood.

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**Where The Heart Is**

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**Part I: In Through a Window**

Bright. White. Flashing. Sound. Breathing, and he was lying down, no, standing up, no spinning, spinning like a leaf to the ground, or maybe backwards into the sky, sideways, upside down. Pain, pleasure. Everything was nowhere. Waiting. Lights.

Where…was…he…?

What…was…he…?

And then-

Silence.

Harry Potter sneezed. Once, twice, three times.

That was _way_ worse than floo travel.

What the hell had just happened? He had just been sitting there, in Charms, and he had gotten a letter the other day, from er…Snuffles, saying that the Order was alright, but that he had finally gotten permission to leave, and now he and 'Moony' were traveling together.

There was no mention of what exactly they were doing, or where they were, but he hadn't expected the letter to mention that anyway. And he was relieved also, that Sirius had managed to get away from headquarters. Harry, as well as anyone, knew that Grimmauld place was eating away at his Godfather's soul more than the Dementors ever had - if maybe in a different way.

He had been looking at the letter, which made him wonder what it would have been like to live with Sirius, as he often did these days. And then he was wishing he could have lived with his parents. Wishing they had had the house and the home and life he'd been born to…

Then, aloud, as if trying out the idea, he had mumbled: "I live with my parents, I belong at Lily and James Potter's home.

And then? He was…where?

Aww. Crap. Stupid Hermione and her weird dusty books with confusing spells that didn't make any sense. Damn, damn, damn.

For someone who was so keen on keeping strictly to the rules, and thinking everything through so methodically, she sure was eager enough to throw morals to the wind in the face of research.

"_Oh Harry, don't be silly."_ She'd said, "_Look, it's just a sort of transportation spell. I can cast it on you and then, for a certain amount of time, when you think about someplace, you'll appear there. The book wasn't exactly clear on what you're supposed to think of, or how exactly it works, but you can, er, try it out for me"_

"_So I'm your guinea pig? What if it's dangerous?" _Harry'd replied, a bit anxious.

"_Come on Harry, that hasn't stopped you from doing anything before. Besides, doesn't it sound useful?" _

"_And this is different from apparition, how?"_

"_Well…er…for apparition, you need a wand, and uh…well, the Ministry doesn't have any restrictions on this spell. It'd be good to have the option."_

_She'd paused, and they both knew what she was thinking. It be good to have a way to escape, like, for instance, if you are ever trapped in a ring of Death Eaters, with Voldemort trying to kill you, again. After that, he hadn't argued._

But now he was really wishing he had stuck with the answer no. He had been thinking about living with his parents. Did that mean he was at wherever his lived before his parents had died?

It was quiet enough to assume he was alone and not under any sort of attack. It was also cool and dry and there wasn't any wind, which meant he was probably inside somewhere. Well, that wasn't too bad. At least he wasn't in much immediate danger. He'd probably be able to get out and then spell himself back to Hogwarts.

Harry opened his eyes.

He wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting. Maybe an old crumbling cottage, or flat, all ruined. A decaying little brick house, perhaps, distant and ruined; lonely on the edge of a neighborhood. The house would, no doubt, be rotting with old peeling wallpaper; empty; desolate.

Whatever he'd thought, he had not been expecting this.

He'd guessed one part correctly, he _was_ inside. But the house wasn't collapsing at all. In fact, it looked to be in pristine condition. Well maybe not pristine. Truth be told, it was a little messy. It looked recently lived in, friendly. Not like the ruins of a murder sight. It looked like a home.

He stood slowly. He appeared to have landed on a hardwood floor; light pine that smelled of rain washed shoes, mops, and spilled milk.

He was in the kitchen. There was a smallish cauldron sitting on the back burner of the stove, and the sink was filled with dirty dishes. A half empty baby bottle sat on the counter. There was a refrigerator, the magical kind, it looked like, and someone had arranged the alphabet magnets on the door to say: "Padfoot was here"

Under that, the letter Q held a to-do list to the door. Harry bent closer to read it.

_Things To Do:_

_Thursday 19/8/81_

_Pick up eggs_

_Wash and put out milk bottles_

_Check on Moony_

_Retrieve package for Order_

_Water house plants_

_Invite Bathilda for goodbye tea on Saturday_

This was so strange. He felt as though he was trapped in some alternate dimension. Where had he gone? The most logical answer he could come up with, was that somehow, the house had been preserved perfectly as it was the night he died. As a memorial, maybe?

But that didn't make very much sense. They had been killed on Halloween, he thought. And the date on the to do list was for nearly a week before then.

It was easy to push it out of the way, and to ignore the feelings creeping across the back of his neck, but all of this was starting to tug at his heart in an oddly painful way. Here he was, in his own house. The place where he could have grown up, with all his wishes and dream, everything he'd ever wanted but couldn't touch. His home. But he didn't fit here, and it seemed like a sick joke to play, instead he was just the missing piece that had been chewed up by the dog.

This place was something younger and freer than he ever would be, than he ever was, except, maybe until the day of his parent's death. Harry twitched nervously, rocking from foot to foot, and shook the thoughts away. He might as well look around.

Harry was halfway to the kitchen table, to examine the pile of papers stacked on the slightly scratched surface when suddenly there was someone banging on the front door.

Harry froze. He wasn't supposed to be here. Somehow, someone knew and they were coming for him. He was in so much trouble, students weren't supposed to cast spells on each other, let alone ones with untested results. He was dead, so, so, so dead. Hermione would _kill _him and then McGonagall would hover up his ashes and feed them to the giant squid. _Crap._

"Lily? James? Hulloooo?"

_What the hell?_ Harry's brain supplied him with the logical question.

"It's Bathilda, I've brought over some muffins, had extras. Is anyone there?"

A small voice in the back of Harry's brain was whispering that obviously, the facts proved that James and Lily were not dead. Because neighbors did not bring muffins to dead people. And the weirdly preserved house theory barely held up under observation.

"Hello?" The voice at the door asked one more time. Then it was silent again. Just as Harry figured it was safe to move and determine what the hell was going on, there was more shuffling, and then a newspaper with a note scrawled across the bottom was shoved through the post slot.

Harry stood stalk still for another moment, but Bathilda had begun to hum, and he could hear the sound fading away. He tiptoed to the window next to the door, and twitched aside the curtain until he could just peek through.

A short little old witch was waddling away, down the walk. It was lovely outside, and the sun sprinkled brightly across a small stone path. The grass was green and well kept, and delicate golden end of summer leaves littered the ground, a red painted picket fence lined the edge of the garden. There was a cheery potted rose on the doorstep.

He leaned down to pick up the newspaper.

It was the Daily Prophet. Obviously that morning's paper. Dashed off in long hand over the title was "_Come pick up Muffins from B. B,'s house"_, but below the heading was written the date: Thursday, 19 October 1981.

Somehow, Hermione's experimental spell, had managed to throw him back in time to his house from the past.

He wondered briefly why the spell had chosen this particular date. There was nothing significant about it that he could think.

But then…maybe that was the point? He had asked to see Lily and James' home. Just as that and nothing more. The place he would have grown up in.

A logical part of his brain told he that he needed to go back. That every second he stood about was another second something could go wrong. He didn't even know what was happening back at the school, he'd disappeared in the middle of charms class-people were bound to notice.

But this was such a golden opportunity.

He would just…look around.

Harry started in the living room. It was smallish, and there was one absolutely hideous florally patterned couch pushed against one wall, but the rest of the furniture seemed relatively simple and tasteful. Harry could only assume it had been some sort of joke or gift.

Two potted plants sat in a corner, and an old, worn quilt was lying folded over an armchair. Baby toys were collected into a basket in one corner, but whoever had been in the room last had left a blanket lying on the floor.

Four home-made looking stuffed animals lay out: a shaggy black dog, a grayish brown wolf, a stag with horns that had tiny bells attached, and the smallest, which Harry couldn't help but glare at, was a crocheted rat.

He could imagine himself perfectly. A round little baby, giggling and laughing, green eyes bright with excitement, and it made him wonder, if it was only so easy to imagine because once, he had lived that very life?

He felt so oddly detached, as though he were viewing an old home film of this house, of himself, or looking in through a window on someone else's life. The baby he imagined wasn't him. It was what he would have been, could have been, once was, but no longer.

Instead Harry walked out of the living room, slowly, his head turning as he noticed something here, something there. A barn owl sat on a perch next to the window, his feathers charmed into pink and purple polka dots, blinking golden eyes regally as Harry passed by. The wallpaper looked to be soft tan and olive stripes, but when he squinted, looking closer, he realized that the olive stripes were actually hundreds of miniature stags and does.

There were portraits on the walls, some frames empty, but most softly asleep. Here was an older man who looked nearly identical to him, and woman with slightly graying hair.

They were his grandparents, he realized.

He followed a hallway to a staircase. At the top of the stairs were four doorways. The first was a bathroom, with a red and gold shower curtain. The sink basin was still damp from whoever had used it last, and the toothpaste laid open, minty gel sluggishly oozing out over the counter top.

The next room appeared to be the baby's room. _His_ room - Harry corrected himself, It was_ his_ room. The wallpaper was very pale yellow, and printed with tiny zooming golden snitches, and the ceiling had real moving clouds on a spongy blue background. A light wooden crib sat in one corner, and a small, matching wardrobe in another. The whole room had a gentle, warm, milky sort of smell, which Harry had, in his slim experience, come to associate with babies. More toys sat in a basket off to one side, and out on the changing table was a tiny set of midnight blue wizard robes. Harry smiled.

Back out in the hallway, Harry inspected the last two doors. He picked the one on the left, which had an odd hoof-shaped gash in the wood, near the bottom.

Opening the door, he realized it was his parent's bedroom. An unused-looking bassinette sat in one corner. Probably, from when he was to young to sleep in a different room. The carpet was soft and tan, and the wall had been painted a deep, rich red. The bed was unmade, recently slept in, and clothes were strewn across one of the two matching wardrobes.

A blue silk dress had been hung from a bar on the black iron four-poster bed, and folded underneath it was a pair of dress trousers and a button down shirt, all muggle. He leaned closer and realized that there was a note pinned to the dress shirt.

_Don't you dare, James. Ruining the clothes will not get us out of going to dinner with my sister. I've already consented to letting Sirius come with Remus to babysit - I can compromise only so much._

A wry grin pulled at Harry's mouth. He could imagine his mother, leaning down across the bed as his father grumbled in the corner, he could see her pinning the note to the shirt, knowing that James would be desperately trying to escape the wrath of his sister-in-law.

The last room was an office. There was a dark wooden secretary desk, open and piled with papers. The walls of the room, though, were incredible. They were covered in hundreds of photographs.

Pictures of Order members and Hogwarts teachers and students, some pictures from something that looked like an auror party, a group of women in medi-witch uniforms smiling, standing in front a sign that read St. Mungo's Department of Dark Related Injuries.

This one showed Dumbledore and McGonagall, Sirius and James laughing and giving them rabbit ears.

That one showed Lily waving, in a bathing suit, holding baby Harry in front of a sign that said 'Welcome to Blackpool.'

The next one showed Peter Pettigrew, trying to out-drink Remus Lupin, who seemed to be downing bottle after bottle of fire-whiskey as though it was nothing more than water.

There were lots of pictures of the four marauders together, some with Lily included. And some of just James and Lily, and some of Peter, and some of Sirius and Professor Lupin, and Harry thought it a little strange, the way they sat in pictures. Like they were more one person together, than two separate people, the same way James and Lily sat for pictures.

There were two that confused him. One was of Professor Lupin. And he was obviously kissing someone, but whomever he was kissing was just out of the picture, and then they pulled him out of the frame. And the other, hanging right next to it was of Sirius, doing almost the same thing. He was kissing someone, just out of the frame, except, unlike the other, instead of being pulled down, he pulled at whomever he was kissing.

Scrawled underneath the one with Remus was, _"M + P, Christmas 1980."_

It was very odd. Because Harry couldn't imagine his godfather _with_ anyone, and it was even more impossible to imagine Professor Lupin with a girlfriend. Who were the mysterious other people anyway? Why had he never heard of them?

But the next picture Harry noticed made him forget the others immediately; In fact it nearly made him choke. They looked younger, but there was no mistaking Professor Snape, standing next to his mother. They were both smiling and she was hugging him. Another tiny note was scrawled across the bottom. Harry leaned close to look.

"_Sev and Lily 1974, and James, don't you dare try to take this down"._

Harry coughed uncomfortably and turned to look instead at the papers piled on the desk.

They seemed to be sorted into three of piles. One of ordinary family things, the bill for milk delivery, a receipt from Madam Malkin's, a house deed, birth certificates and marriage certificates, and all sorts of other things.

The next pile all sorts of work for the Order. On top a half finished charm invention, the runes and words trailing across the page in a mad jumble of magic and intricacies, all in Lily Potter's neat squarish handwriting.

The last pile was also Order work, but in James' scrawling hand. The top of the pile seemed to be a partially done report for the arrest of an unknown Death Eater.

It was odd, to see these piles of work, side by side in a room papered in family and friends. But, Harry could see how it would be good to be cocooned in pictures of normality, of joy when dealing with work that centered on the imminent demise of the Wizarding World.

And suddenly, and abruptly, though he had not even been considering it before, he wanted more.

He wanted to stay, and be a part of this life he never had. How hard would it be? All he had to do was say that he had gotten trapped, and that he couldn't go back. And then he would meet his parents, and he could live with them, and he could be happy.

But it was a futile wish, and he knew it. And no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how perfect it would be.

He wouldn't.

_To be continued…_


	2. Finding a Place

Disclaimer: Don't own

_Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue._

_Notes: That update to ages. –looks around sheepishly-_

_Chapter Summary: In which Harry discovers one difference between 'house' and 'home,' has a close call, and understands some things._

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But it was a futile hope, and he knew it. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how perfect it would be.

He wouldn't.

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**Part 2: Finding a Place**

Just because he knew he couldn't stay didn't mean he couldn't keep looking around, though.

For a moment he paused.

How did the spell work? He had been sitting there, and thinking about living with his parents. So then, if he wanted to go and look at Sirius' house, did just had to think about living there? But he had already done that, before. That was only part of what had started this.

Wait. He had said something out loud…was it, 'I want to live with Lily and James Potter?' No. 'I want to go to Lily and James Potter's house?' No.

_Oh._

"I belong at Lily and James Potter's home." Yes. That was it. So then, to see Sirius' house he just had to say he belonged there. But maybe…maybe he should test it first. Somewhere safer. But where could he go?

"I belong at The Dursley's home."

And then…the spinning and the light and the sound and the pain and the pleasure and the light.

Everything.

Bright.

Loud.

Shattering of shards.

Too much, too little, to here, to there.

Spinning, spinning, silence.

He was lying on his back on the familiar shag carpeting of the Dursley's living room floor. There was a news report was on, and as though specifically for his reference, the newscaster announced the date.

He was back in the present. The same day he left. Why did the dates work that way?

"What? Boy! What are you…" Uh oh.

Harry cracked one eye open, to be met by the sight of Vernon Dursley's angry, purple, spluttering face. He thought desperately for a moment.

"I belong at Remus Lupin's home." Nothing. Vernon Dursley was growing more confused and angry by the second.

"I belong and Sirius Black's home." No. Still here. Uncle Vernon was now screaming in enraged and baffled words, and Harry was getting worried.

"I belong at Sirius Black's house."

Falling, light, crashing, all around, nothing everywhere, breaking, white, bright, something, nothing, alone, sound.

Silence.

He was sprawled across the cement right in front of the stairwell railing that marked the spot between Numbers 11 and 13 Grimmauld place.

It was nice to know the Fidelus charm worked with this spell, too, he thought briefly.

How odd, that saying 'home' hadn't worked, but 'house' had.

Harry stood slowly, and dusted himself off. It was cold and a little windy, and the leaves skittered across the square in gusts of autumn colors. Yes. Likely still the same present date then.

Where to go now? It would be good to check if saying 'house' instead worked for Professor Lupin's house too.

"I belong at Remus Lupin's house."

The same shattering sensation and then-

He was inside again. In a living room, it looked like, with a small shabby couch and an overstuffed, faded armchair. A grayish, threadbare rug was laid carefully beneath his feet, and the house had a cold, and empty feel to it, crumpled and quiet. He peeked out the window. A pile of newspapers lay at the door, untouched for a week or so. He pulled the door open and looked at the date on the top paper.

Present again.

How would he be able to see Sirius' house before Lily and James' death? Obviously there was some sort of difference between house and home. And it didn't have to do with the date because he had asked to go to the Dursley's 'home' and the spell had transported him there on the present day.

But how to get to Sirius' house in that other time.

And then Harry thought he knew.

If Professor Lupin didn't have a 'home' then he must have lived somewhere, but Sirius didn't have one either because…because Sirius and Remus must have lived together.

"I belong at Sirius Black and Remus Lupin's home."

Then he was gone.

And lying on a softly carpeted floor.

So it had worked.

Harry sat up slowly.

It was a flat. He could tell because there was a balcony on one side of the room. The Thames, winding grey in the rainy morning, was just visible through the space between two tall buildings from where he was sitting. He stood to look out the glass door. In one direction, he could just see the tall marble and brick buildings of Whitehall. So he was in London then.

The window was open, and a cool, sharp thunderstorm breeze leaked in, spreading across the front rooms like paint. It seemed to be an open sort of floor plan, and so, from the living room, near the balcony where he stood, he could also see the dining room, and behind, the kitchen.

Once again, a newspaper, this time the Daily Prophet, evening addition, aided him in determining the date. For some reason, he'd expected it to be the same date as it was at his parent's house, but it was not. In fact it was years earlier. Instead the sixteenth of November, 1978 was printed across the top of the page. If it was the night edition, then today was probably the seventeenth.

Harry sighed. What was with the dates? They just didn't seem to make any sense at all.

Well, at least he had found the house. The living room, where he was standing now, was painted a vivid shade of purple, and shoved against the wall was a black suede couch. One of the cushions on the couch had a large tartan patch sewn over the side, and stitched into it, clumsily, in sparkly thread was: "Full Moon Lovin'"

Harry snorted softly.

There were several portraits on the walls, most of them sleeping people, none that he recognized, except…the smallest one held a girl with sea foam green hair, and strange purple eyes who waved eagerly at Harry, she looked oddly familiar. Uncomfortably aware that she would probably report the sudden appearance of a strange boy to Sirius and Remus when they returned, Harry waved back.

"Hello!" She whispered. And then she stood up, out of the orange armchair she had been sitting in. She tripped, and suddenly Harry knew exactly who it was. "Er…Tonks?"

She grinned. "Hey! You called me Tonks. I keep asking people to, but everyone usually calls me Nymphie. It's really stupid." She was still whispering and Harry wasn't exactly sure why, but he complied to whisper as well.

"Er…listen Tonks-Nymphie…er…Tonks. Ah, can you please not tell Sirius and Remus that I was here?"

"You know Sirius and Remus?"

"Ah…yeah."

"They're pretty cool, don-cha think? So, ya know, stylish and stuff." She grinned. Harry pictured his versions of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Both raged and tired, world weary, and out dated, with matching haunted looks in their eyes.

Stylish? Not quite.

But then he also remembered the pictures on the wall at James and Lily's house. All bright and laughing, people for whom the war was not yet so real, and more a game to play. He could see Remus, still a little tired, and sick maybe, but his hair softly brown, like coffee with too much cream, his eyes bright and golden, and Sirius with his wild, shining black mane of hair and piercing, mischievous grin.

Harry could see how once upon a time, they had been 'cool'. The object of a child's delight.

"Er…they are pretty neat. But you know, when you see them again. Don't say I was here."

She was silent, and her eyes, which he noticed briefly, were no longer purple, but the same shade of green as his own, studied him closely.

"Okay."

"You…you won't tell them I was here, then?"

"That's what I just said, wasn't it?"

"Oh…er, thanks."

He was glad that Tonks wouldn't mention it, surely, but…he couldn't help but think that maybe she shouldn't have agreed so quickly. What if he hadn't meant well for Remus and Sirius at all? What if he was a Death Eater or a thief.

"You know." She whispered after a moment. "The only reason I'm not going to say anything is because there are wards on the house, and if you haven't already been spelled to be allowed in, they'll know immediately."

So they knew he was here? For the second time that day, a rising panic bubbled in the pit of Harry's stomach. And they were going to come and kill him. Soon too. And he was doomed. But Tonks was still talking.

"…the funny thing about it is that I can always tell when the wards 'ave been set off, and they haven't been, but I thought the only people allowed in without the special permission key thingy were The Potter's and that Peter guy."

Oh. Harry let out his breath in a long whoosh of relief. Safe then. He had been allowed to enter even before he was born.

"Yeah," He said back, voice still soft to unconsciously match Tonks' voice. "Well, you know. Funny how that worked. I ah…I'm just going to look for something and then I'll be going."

"Okay." She smiled, and then stretched a little, and fell asleep.

Next to the portrait, there was a tiny hallway, which lead to two doors. He pushed open the one of his left first. It was a smallish bathroom, painted cheery lime with a stained glass window.

There was a faintly lemony fragrance tinged with strawberries a chocolate, emanating from the tub, and Harry could not imagine what sort of soap had been used to produce it. Shaking his head in amusement, he turned away.

The next door he opened was a bedroom.

Suddenly, just like that, he understood a lot of things.

He understood the pictures, and he understood a lot of little comments, here and there, he'd been confused about before, and he understood exactly why they lived with each other and he understood why he had always thought there was something a bit_ off_ in the way he'd seen them hug each other or look at each other, and talk to each other.

There, in the middle of the room was one bed. It was a big bed, four poster, with black velvet curtains left open, and Harry could clearly see two form, turned into each other on the bed, one with ink-dark head and the other toffee coloured.

There was only one bedroom in this house, and it was clearly shared by Remus and Sirius, and they slept together in it too.

There were two wardrobes, and the door to one was open to reveal rows of hanging shirts, and on the ground, trailing from the door to the bed was a line of discarded clothing.

It did not take Harry long to think of exactly why the clothing had been discarded.

There were pictures on the walls in here. Some of James or Lily, and of the order members, too. And pictures of Remus and Sirius.

And in most of them, they were just laughing or smiling or looking at the camera, some even with other people, but he could pick out, from where he was standing, several, where they were kissing or holding hands or doing something equally explanatory and non-disputable.

He would have liked to look around, but his thoughts were all twisted inside out, trying to _see_ and understand; it was hard work, all this sudden realization.

And something inside him felt as though it was intruding, so instead, he closed the door, walked back down the short hallway, and turned to look at the living room again.

_To be continued…_


	3. Laughs Like Lily

Disclaimer: Don't Own

_Disclaimer: Don't Own. Don't Sue._

_Author's Notes: Sorry about my terribly slow update rate. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU my delightful reviewers. You are all awesome._

_Chapter Summary: In which things happen that cause Harry's wrists to hurt, Sirius to hen-peck, and Remus to be logical, and everyone is slightly wary._

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And something inside him felt as though it was intruding, and so instead, he closed the door, and walked back down the short hallway, and turned to look at the living room again.

--

**Part III: Laughs Like Lily **

There was a modern looking desk in one corner, covered with papers, and he thought he knew what the messy stacks would contain. When he tiptoed over to look, he found he was right. Order work, runes translations, detailed instructions for a set of wards, a report on the arrest of suspected Death Eaters, requests to escort certain families to safe locations etc, etc.

The rest of the contents of the desk was strange, to say the least. An odd collection of miscellaneous knick-knacks. A lime green rubber duck, an old Gryffindor school tie, half a dozen tiny glass figurines, a spiked black dog collar, three quill pens, with feathers that no real bird could have worn, for they were brilliantly shaded in blues and purples, a glass bowl with a tiny red speckled fish, empty chocolate frog wrappers, and a copper box.

It was the box that caught his eye.

Harry examined it more closely. It was roughly the size of a lunch tin, and a small clustered pattern of a crescent moon and stars was indented into the side. Beneath that was a white paper label with _"First aid for Moony" _written across it in thick, sweeping, practiced script.

After studying the writing, he realized that it was Sirius's hand, only unlike he remembered from the various letters he received from his own time, it was perfect and elegant and untouched by Azkaban. And Harry wondered, briefly, if Sirius had been happier to have post-Azkaban writing, hesitant and shaky, because Harry knew that the flowing lettering must have come from hours of forced repetition at the hands of Sirius's parents.

When he tried the latch, it stuck fast.

He'd expected that though, and was pretty sure it had nothing to do with rust. Harry had had enough experience with Marauder's products. He paused for a moment, to study the box.

"Open Please." He whispered. Alright, he hadn't really thought that would work, but he might as well have tried.

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs." Nothing. Except, suddenly, white label was black with ink, and then it was clearing into a bold thick slanting writing that said _"Nice try."_ Harry grinned. Yes. He knew exactly what to do.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Then…it didn't open, but the writing had changed again, back to Sirius's curling calligraphy.

"_Oh-ho! Think you're special. Well that won't work, but you've got the right idea."_

Harry chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. So he was close, very close. But not quite there. If this was a first aid kit for "Moony", then it wasn't about, 'being up to no good.' It was about…

"I solemnly swear I am helping Moony." And there was a soft, muffled sort of click, and the lid of the box had popped open.

He examined the contents carefully. They seemed almost incongruous.

There was a small stack of chocolate, and a collection of sugar quills, an old, much handled leather-bound book, and if he squinted and tilted his head, he could just make out the last of the peeling gold lettering on the cover which read "--ummer Night's Dream."

There were three rolls of thin gauze bandages, some plasters, a tiny bundle of letter writing paper, along with a muggle pen, which was apparently more practical than a quill, a small vile of some sort of healing extract, and something carefully wrapped in plain white silk.

Harry picked it up slowly, and was surprised to find how heavy it was. The silk fell of smoothly, dropping to the table in a pile of milky white to reveal a fatally sharp pure silver dagger. Harry shivered slightly as he traced his thumb over the cool, uncaring surface of the hilt.

And it was then, that Harry felt the gentle prick of a wand point beneath his throat.

For someone who had so very often been in the face of death, he marveled distantly, never had someone he loved threatened his life.

He knew it was Sirius behind him, because Azkaban had not changed him so much. He still smelled the same, a deep musky scent, something like dogs, motor oil and thunderstorms, and it did not have a tang of pain and regret or alcohol or hippogriff, but undoubtedly it was Sirius.

"All right you punk. I wake up and come out into _my_ living room to get a cup of tea for _my_ Moony, and at first I think _my very own_ best friend James is standing here holding the Silver Dagger, off for some sort of emergency death mission, but then…no it's a kid, who's also gotten around the wards. And Moony's wards are no joke, so" Sirius pauses, his breath fast and hot and angry in Harry's ear, and Harry knows he could just speak four simple words, and he would be gone, but Sirius is holding onto his arm, and Harry doesn't know if he would be dragged along in the spell.

He feels stupid. He should have left as soon as he realized that Sirius and Remus were home.

"Who are you? And don't lie, because I will find out." Harry did not doubt this, but he also did not know how to reply, so he said nothing. "You've got about five seconds kid, and I want you talk-"

"Sirius?" Remus's voice was groggy, mid yawn, and emanating from the hallway, Harry could just peer sideways to see-

Professor Lupin was leaning against the doorway, pale locks of coffee and cream hair sticking up haphazardly, and naked, very, very stark naked. Harry's blush started at the tip of his ears and did not stop until it reached his toes.

"Sirius are you bringing the…James?" Remus paused, squinting slightly. "Huh." He mumbled. "You don't smell much like James."

"Yeah, that because he isn't."

Harry couldn't see him, but he was suddenly, and _very_ uncomfortably aware that Sirius was most likely naked too.

"But then who is…"

"That would be what I am trying to determine."

It was then that Sirius whispered something, and Harry Potter's world went black.

--

When he woke, it was raining in heavy gusts and for a few minutes, Harry could not understand why he was not lying in his safe, warm, four poster bed back in the Gryffindor boy's Dormitory, but then there was a wand, this time poking sharply into his chest, right above where his heart beat firmly, if a bit erratically, and he remembered.

"Well," said Professor Lupin, sounding much more alert. Harry blearily opened his eyes.

Sirius and Remus stood shoulder to shoulder, thankfully dressed, and both holding wands in one hand, and tea in the other, it was the Professor's wand pointed at his chest. "You are completely human. And real. And I would like to know who you are, how you got around my wards, and why you are here."

Harry chose to instead stare at the ceiling above his head, which he now noticed had a pattern stars that actually seemed to glint. His wrists were tied together behind his back and the pocket in his jeans where his wand usually lay was disturbingly empty.

Much, much later, he would remember that he could have used the spell to safely escape, for no one was touching him, but at that moment he'd forgotten, somewhere in between seeing Professor Lupin naked and passing out.

"Now please." Said Professor Lupin, the tip of his pale willow wand digging deeper into Harry's chest.

And then Harry started to laugh.

It wasn't that anything happening was particularly funny, but there Harry was, tied to his godfather and practically godfather-in-law's couch in 1978, and they were holding him at wand point because they thought he was some sort of Death Eater spy. He was going to be killed by them, too. Because he couldn't stop thinking about stupid Hermione and how disappointed she would be if he screwed up the future. Voldemort was going to be so disappointed he missed out on all the fun, poor guy.

"Fuck." said Sirius. "He laughs exactly like Lily." Harry wondered distantly if he should be worried about laughing like a girl.

"Yeah." said Remus. "And did you see those eyes?"

That was when Harry realized that he very seldom listened to things Hermione told him not to do. His gut instinct, which was often wrong and often right, was muttering him that the future would be a lot more messed up if he died in 1978. Or for that matter, if he was taken to Azkaban in 1978, or the Ministry in 1978.

"Can you untie me?" Harry asked, voice dull. "My wrists hurt."

Remus and Sirius seemed to snap out of their confused surprise at the strange boy who was tied to their sofa and slipped back into a questioning attitude.

"Listen kid." Sirius's voice was rough, and Harry wasn't listening because he was very busy trying to figure out how to make them all believe him once he told them who he was. "I am a trained Auror, and I _will_ find out how you got in here."

Harry made no move to reply.

"Why are you here? Did…did Voldemort send you?"

Harry looked up briefly, still thinking, maybe he could do some sort of muggle blood test? Or name the Weasley children? Distantly he answered them, though about what he couldn't quite remember.

"Voldemort? No. 'Course not."

Remus and Sirius eyed him warily, but Harry was trying to remember if he ever knew Sirius's favorite color.

"Go call James." Sirius murmured to Remus quietly.

Harry snapped from his thoughts. No! He couldn't…no, that was going to far, it would confuse everything…and then--no, he could not, would not meet his parents. Not, at least until he had figured out what he was going to do.

"NO!"

Sirius blinked in surprise.

"I'm sorry, listen Sirius, uh Profess-I mean ah…Lupin, you can't get my d--James, or Lily. You can't"

Sirius paused, and inspected Harry closer, and Remus turned from where he had been standing, one hand reaching towards what appeared to be an old cocoa tin full of floo powder.

"Hmm…" Said Sirius. "The kid talks. And he's afraid of James. And Lily…well then-"

"I'm not afraid of them. I just can't see them. I can't."

Not now, when he was all scraped raw and confused and an _enemy_, his resolve would break, he'd snap.

"Look here," Remus began to walk closer, and he was wearing what Harry recognized as his disapproving teacher frown. Is soothed Harry enough so that his emerald eyes calmed. Remus would not do anything rash, and he would approach the problem carefully, and logically.

Everything would be _okay_.

"Now, I just need you to tell me who you are, why you are here, and how you got in. I won't call James and Lily, and I won't hurt you right now, but I need you to tell me-"

For a moment, Harry wasn't exactly sure why Remus had suddenly stopped talking. His face was turned away slightly, and twisted into a grimace of…pain? He was clutching at his upper right arm, and he had let out a tiny muffled oww.

Sirius had turned to look as well, but as soon as he had turned enough to see, he was across the space between, them, pulling Remus fingers away to inspect what appeared to be a ragged sort of gash along the Professor's arm, which oozed blood sluggishly, staining the sleeve of his shirt.

"Come on, Remus, come sit down. I said, last night…too soon after the moon, shhh…just let me fix it…shh." Sirius was easing Remus towards the armchair in a corner, and Remus was almost but not quite protesting, apparently with the realization that a concerned Sirius was not to be swayed. Sirius's forehead was crinkled with lines of worry. Out of his left pocket, he promptly pulled a swathe of white bandage and a chocolate frog.

"Really Sirius, its alright, it doesn't hurt that mu-" Sirius had silenced the protest with a kiss, and he stuffed the chocolate frog in Remus's mouth, then, deftly, he bandaged Remus arm, and then pulled both of them upright again.

Harry could not remember if he had ever seen anything more amusing in his entire life. It was the strangest mix of hen-pecking old woman, anxious lover, and well-practiced caregiver, and Harry began to laugh again.

He seemed to be doing that a lot today. Or whenever it was.

Sirius, seemed to suddenly remember that someone else was in the room besides himself and Remus, and Remus had immediately pointed his wand at Harry, again. Harry managed to cause the last of his giggles to subside.

Professor Lupin and his Godfather. Sirius Black.

Were together.

It was weird. Very weird. But it didn't seem nearly as incongruous as he might have thought. In fact, they fit together, they matched, two sides of the same slice of bread, jigsaw puzzle, What Sirius lacked, logic, and calmness, and a sense of when, where and why, Remus had, and what Remus lacked, all that spirit, and wildness, and spontaneity, Sirius had.

"I'm sorry," It was very easy to forget that these people thought he was an intruder, it was simpler to talk to them as he would in his normal life, and he found himself doing the now. Harry grinned. "Sorry, it's just weird. Seeing you guys together together. It's kinda…I dunno. Did your parents, I mean do your parents know, Sirius, because I-"

"Who are you?"

Oh. Right. They had never met him. And here he was, talking about Sirius's home life. Except…maybe that could work. He knew a lot about the order, and who was in it, and stories about James and Sirius and Remus and…the rat, as kids, and he _knew_ they would have to believe him.

Besides. He looked like James, he had Lily's eyes. It wasn't too far fetched. They would believe him.

That could work. And they would fix it…

"I-I'm..."

"Spit it out, kid. I don't have all day. Who the _hell_ are you."

"I'm Lily and James' son. I'm Harry Potter."

_To be continued…_


	4. Stuck, With Tea

Disclaimer: Don't own

_Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue._

_Notes: Woot. More reviews for me, more story for you. _

_Chapter Summary: In which there is hysteria, explanations, Dumbledore, and getting stuck._

--

"Spit it out, kid. I don't have all day. Who the _hell_ are you."

"I'm Lily and James' son. I'm Harry Potter."

--

**Part 4: Stuck, With Tea**

Sirius paused for a moment, turned to look at Remus, whose eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.

And then he started to laugh. Remus paused for a second, to study Harry. And then he began to laugh as well.

"I'm sorry kid. But I don't think I can imagine a more ridiculous lie. Really, I mean, if you were going to sneak in here, you could at least come up with a decent alibi." Sirius was snorting, convulsing into fits of giggles, and Remus was wiping tears from the corner of his pale amber eyes.

"But…but…" Harry sputtered. "I am. I knew you wouldn't believe me. Look I can prove it too. You said yourself, I look like James, I have Lily's eyes. I know about…about the Order, and-"

Sirius was standing properly again, but his face was still pulled into a silly sort of grin. "Really, Kid, there's a lot of reasons you could look like James. There are branches of the Potter family who are Voldemort sympathizers; the Potters just as pureblooded as I am. I'm sure some of them look like James, and could have green eyes. Or maybe you're wearing some sort of disguise.

"And most Death Eaters know about the Order."

"Fine…" Harry said, scrambling for other answers. "You…you…are a werewolf. Remus is a werewolf."

Granted, they did look slightly more surprised by this news than the previous explanations, but still they shook their heads.

"Some people from the order know about that, and so does…that slimy evil bastard Snape. I'm sure he told the other Death Eaters."

Harry thought for a moment. "Well…I could…my dad, when he was in school with you…he used to say that Remus had a 'Furry Little Problem.'"

Remus waved that off easily. "Anyone who's gone to school with us knows that."

"Sirius has a flying motorbike." Harry shot back. He was running out of ideas. It surprised him to think now, how little he truly did know about Sirius and Remus. About his father and mother. How small a part he had played in there lives, even though it was so much his fault and for him that they'd been torn apart.

Remus shook his head, no. "Sirius told that to loads of girls to impress them. That doesn't work."

And then Harry had it. Then he knew. Because he knew something that no one except the Marauders and Lily had known in 1978.

How had Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban?

Because_ no one _knew that he was an illegal animagus.

Harry grinned a grin of triumph.

"Sirius Black." He said, relieved now. "Padfoot." Sirius blinked in surprise and Remus had straightened warily, the hostage was acting strangely. "Prongs. Wormtail. Moony. Moony makes sense. Werewolf, Moon. But where did those other names come from…"

Sirius re-adjusted the grip on his wand.

"The Marauders are all _ILLEGAL ANIMAGI_. And no one except you four and my mum know."

Yes. They were surprised now. Except…

He had expected them to jump forward. Perhaps untie the rough hemp rope securing his wrists in place…

Not re-shove the wand up underneath Harry's collar.

"How. Did. You. Find. That. Out." Sirius's voice was gravel in his ear. Remus's eyes had gone nervous and glassy and his careful calculating cool slipped. "When?" Sirius asked. The part of Harry's brain that was distant and uninvolved noted that Sirius's breath smelled like mint toothpaste and dog breath, and that Remus was certifiably insane for kissing _that. _But mostly Harry was realizing that his plan had backfired somewhere along the way.

But then all of the sudden, there was a fizzing and a crackling and a green fire sprouted from apparently no-where and the tall sparkling purple form of Albus Dumbledore careened out of the fireplace.

"Oh dear." He said, twinkling as he dusted some soot from the silver moon and star embroidery on his robes. "Those anti-apparition charms are quite something Remus. Such that I had no choice but to use the floo. Good for the system, I think. A bit of fire in the lungs."

Dumbledore paused and then looked up to where Sirius was still clutching his wand jabbed firmly under Harry's jaw, his eyes flicking nervously, from Harry to Remus to Dumbledore and then back again.

"Oh!" Exclaimed Dumbledore, just now apparently noticing Harry's predicament. "Harry! How wonderful to see you. You seem to have grown up quite well, just as I told myself. Lets see, yes, yes. Let go there Sirius, no need to cause any heart attacks."

Sirius's eyes widened slightly, and with considerable hesitation, he stumbled back from Harry's inert form.

Dumbledore offered a kind smile and flicked his wand. The ropes securing Harry down to the sofa vanished. "Some tea does sound lovely right now, I'm sure you wouldn't mind, Remus."

Remus blinked hazily, and then snapped to bright attention abruptly. "I-" He coughed. "But what-"

"Tea?" Suggested Dumbledore.

And then Sirius seemed to snap out of his strange dreamy surprise. "Now…now wait a minute." He turned accusingly to Dumbledore. "Who is this kid. And…and how do I know if you're even the real Dumbledore. Huh? Because…because…he _knows_ things."

"Oh. Yes. Well, that's very sharp of you Sirius, I will give you my word that I am Albus Dumbledore, but perhaps you should like to ask some sort of question only I might know the answer too?" Dumbledore said, his smile soft and kind. And immediately Harry was soothed, and safe. Because Dumbledore _always _knew what to do.

Sirius paused, thinking for a moment.

"When I first found out that Remus was…a werewolf, I told you. I didn't even know if you knew, and I thought you should. That was before I even said anything to James and Peter…I mean, I think James already suspected, but he hadn't said anything to me. And, I told you. What did I say?"

Remus looked surprised and Harry thought that Sirius must have never even told him about this.

Dumbledore smiled widely. "I believe you said 'Just thought you should like to know Remus is a werewolf, and if you tell anyone, or hurt him I swear I will kill you.' I've never doubted that if I had acted wrongly on that information, I would be a dead man."

Sirius smiled then, and said "All right, so who the hell is this kid, and what is he doing in my house."

Remus nodded in agreement, but he had a soft startled sort of smile of his face, as Dumbledore turned to the kitchen and Harry followed him, he caught, out of the corner of his eye, Remus leaning forward to press a careful, gentle as snow kiss to the corner of Sirius's mouth, before they too followed Dumbledore out of the living room.

--

"Wait a minute…let me get this straight. This actually is James and Lily's son, and he was somehow transported into the past by a spell his little friend cast on him?"

"Yes." Said Dumbledore. "And in a moment, we will send him back, but I must be sure that you will not tell anyone."

Dumbledore had insisted that they each have a cup of tea and settle at the table before explaining what exactly Harry was doing there.

"But how do you know?" asked Remus, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Dumbledore twinkled briefly. "Why, I left myself a note, of course."

This time, it was Harry who spoke. "How could you have left yourself a note? I mean, unless you cast the spell I used and went back to leave it on your desk or something…"

"No," he said. "I merely left myself a note telling myself to leave a note to myself in the future, who of course knew what had happened, and therefore, I in the past must also have known."

Harry considered twitching but instead opted for nodding as though he understood. Sirius had an expression similar to Harry's but Remus seemed to genuinely comprehend whatever it was that Dumbledore was going on about.

"Oh." said Harry.

"Now. In my note, I was of course, very vague, for knowing the future is no one's business, but I had not specified _not_ returning you to your time, and therefore, I think it would be best. How exactly did you get here?"

"Er…well Herm-I mean, my friend cast some sort of spell, and then when nothing happened, we thought that maybe it hadn't worked…but then later, I was sitting in my Charms class, and I was thinking about…"

Uh oh. What was he going to say _now_. He couldn't very well explain that he had been imagining what it was like to live with his parents because they were dead…

"What?" Sirius asked, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "What were you thinking about?"

"Umm…just about. Uh…being at home. Because I was bored. And stuff. And so I said out loud, 'I belong at Lily and James Potters' home and-"

But whatever Harry had meant to say next was whisked away as he was pulled up and in and out of himself and that sickeningly familiar sense of being absolutely nothing and nowhere and alone and crowded, and then-

"James! What is-! Is that a…a boy laying on our floor?"

"Lily? Are you okay? Did you scream, I thought I heard you scr…what is that kid who looks like me doing on our-"

"Damn." said Harry, and then, "Shit." There was Lily, who was about to grab his arm some he sputtered out, "I belong at Sirius Black and Remus Lupin's Home." And then, thankfully this time, he was whisked away, and being pulled apart atom by atom, until he had been forcefully shoved back together except he wasn't anywhere now.

It was bright and blinding and Harry had the urge to cough, and cough a lot but he couldn't because he hurt to breath, and then he was somewhere that felt like cement and sidewalk and trees, and somewhere that felt like home and safe and warm, but he wasn't anywhere.

He was stuck.

"NO!"

He wouldn't be stuck. He pushed at the spell, which he could feel around him like a funeral shroud, but he pushed harder against it and, oh it was _so hot _but he was _so cold. _And so he was pushing power into the spell, and then.

There.

Sirius and Remus's floor again.

He breathed a sigh of relief, right before the thick syrup of exhaustion crashed over him.

"Yes! I see that he's gone. But _where too?_" Came the distraught voice of Sirius Black from the other room.

"Urg…" Harry gurgled feebly in reply. A moment later, the heads of Sirius, Remus and Dumbledore appeared from the other room in a nearly comical fashion.

"There he is!" said Dumbledore. "Why, what happened?"

Harry sat up slowly. "Ummm…I think James and Lily saw me…but it, uh probably wasn't until a year or two from now, cause that's where I went last time it happened, so you might want to remember that part, and uh, think of an explanation. But…something happened. It didn't work right this time."

Harry coughed, because the urge was still tugging at him, and he needed to cough, only once he had started he couldn't stop, and the coughs wracked at his body, until Sirius was kneeling next to him in concern and Remus was rummaging for some sort of potion.

Finally they subsided, and Harry said, "Oww."

"To return to your time, I would suspect you should say 'I belong at Hogwarts' but…" Dumbledore looked down on him in concern. "Maybe…something else should be done?"

"No…" Said, Harry yawning. "No, I'll try it." He stood up, if a little shakily, and this time, held tight to his wand, which someone had handed him.

"I…" He coughed once. "I belong at Hogwarts." Nothing. Harry waited. Nothing.

"Maybe, maybe I phrased it wrong? Sometimes that happens. It won't work unless you use the right words. Uh…" He thought for a minute.

"I belong at home."

There. A spinning and flashing, and that same familiar wrenching feeling. And then he caught a glimpse of a dark stone floor, and the anxious face of….of someone, who he couldn't quite see, with sharp features, and a worried smile, and then it was flashing again, and there was his bed, and then he was-

Stuck. Again. But he knew what to do now, he forced, and shoved the power from himself into the spell and it gave a feeble stroke and-

He hadn't gone anywhere, suddenly, he was there, in the home of his godfather and future teacher in 1978.

And he _was _stuck.

Maybe not in between times and places.

But stuck indeed.

Harry coughed again.

"It won't work anymore. I think…I think it ran out of power."

Harry closed his eyes and wondered if he was going to cry.

"Cool." Said Sirius. "You can live with us."

_To be continued…_


	5. The Morning After

iDisclaimer: Don't own

_Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue._

_Notes: HA! And you thought this was abandoned. _

_Chapter Summary: In which Remus and Sirius have exciting conversations over breakfast and there is a mermaid in the window._

--

"The spell won't work anymore. I think…I think it ran out of power."

Harry closed his eyes and wondered if he was going to cry.

"Cool." Said Sirius. "You can live with us."

--

**Part 5: The Morning After **

The next morning, Harry experienced a sort of confusion he'd been growing used to.

It took him nearly ten minutes of lying on a couch he knew wasn't his bed, staring at a ceiling he knew he'd never woken to before until he finally remembered exactly what had happened. As it turned out he was getting sick of constantly having this horrid puzzling puzzle trapped in his mind of _how _that stupid spell worked and _how _he was supposed to get home, back to _his_ time_. _

He thought that maybe that was what it was like to be Hermione, maybe that was why she was always so cross, because her brain was constantly muddled up with all sorts of bits of things she was trying to work out and she never shut off anyway.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, blocking the blinking stars on the ceiling, pinching his nose like an exasperated old man. Oh, what he would give to have Hermione berating him about something right now, rather than trapped in the strange alternate reality where everything he ever thought he knew was a skewed truth.

It wasn't really that he wasn't sort of glad to be here. Hadn't he always wished he'd known Sirius and Remus before…before _everything. _And this was the epitome of perfect chances, wasn't it? If only he had a choice about it. It seemed to Harry that in life, he was always getting stuck in odd situations, left with nothing to do but make the best out of everything.

He sighed again. _Getting all maudlin, now are you. _

He was just contemplating arising from the veritable nest of blankets and pillows they'd arranged for him last night and going off to find some weetabix when a heart-stopping, ear-splitting shriek arose from the direction of Remus and Sirius's bedroom.

Harry was down the hallway and throwing the door open before he'd even remembered he wasn't wearing any pants.

"Oh my God." Harry murmured upon viewing the scene before him.

"Oh my _God." _Said Remus._ "_Sirius. _Siriuhhhs._"

"Oh my God." Sirius said. "I swear I forgot you were here."

Harry slammed the door shut.

Never, would he look at a necktie the same way again.

Vaguely, Harry wondered if it was possible to become permanently the colour of a blushed tomato because if it was, he was well on his way.

"_Please, _Sirius." Filtered through the doorway before all the sound from that wing of the flat abruptly stopped leaving Harry to assume they had put up a silencing spell, which was almost worse really, because now Harry knew that they were going at it on the other side of the door, and he also knew that they knew that he was outside here _knowing _what they were doing, and even if that was the most convoluted idea Harry'd ever had it was still all undeniably true.

Harry went and had a shower.

It was a nice shower. The pipes were a little squeaky and the plumbing slightly exposed, but the tub was a big old Victorian claw foot that was so pretty it looked like it had been bought from one of Aunt Petunia's home renovation catalogues, and instead of the thick bubbled glass most bathrooms had in the window, there was stained glass with a long haired mermaid giggling and blushing on the pane.

"Hello." She said politely as Harry shampooed his hair.

"Er…hi." Harry replied. "You alright?"

She nodded and petted a small speckled fish beside her.

"Haven't seen you around before."

"Ah…well, I'm new." Harry said.

"How nice." She turned away to comb at her hair with a pronged seashell.

Harry shook his head, and then winced as some soap got in his eyes. He pulled the shower curtain shut more tightly so the window wasn't visible anymore.

There were two razors in the shower, a bottle of ordinary shampoo and a bottle of hypoallergenic dog shampoo, which made Harry laugh a little. The soap smelled of lemon grass and oleander and disconcertingly of the Professor Lupin from Harry's time.

When Harry finally stepped out of the shower he found a very large and fluffy striped towel sitting on the ground next to a small stack of clean clothing. His dirty things from the day before had been removed. He hadn't even heard the door open, but he couldn't imagine that anything bad would be allowed into the house so he picked up the clothing.

There was a neon t-shirt with a band name he couldn't quite make out across the front. There was also a pair of black jeans, with ripped knees. A very large jumper was folded beneath the pile and when he removed it to inspect it he immediately felt the sting of tears press up behind his eyes.

It was a Weasley sweater. The letter J was stitched into he front in grey thread, and Harry savoured the feel of it for a moment. His own father's Weasley sweater. Harry pressed his face into it and wondered if the slightly sweaty, grassy scent was his father's.

Harry pulled the clothing on clumsily and then turned to inspect himself in the mirror.

He looked absolutely bloody ridiculous. Sirius (at least Harry assumed most of the clothes were Sirius's) obviously had a more narrow build than Harry and so the t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest, and the jeans were extremely constricting, his knees looking knobbly and gangly where they peeked out from the tears in the jeans.

He pulled the jumper over his head but it didn't improve matters at all. He still looked disconcertingly like a young boy trying on a mash up of his older relative's clothing. With this thought Harry smiled. Technically that was exactly what he _was _wearing. Better than his usually assortment of Dudley's cast-offs. At least these clothes came from people who saw him as something more than a temporarily amusing punching bag.

This made him feel a bit better about it so he scrubbed one hand through his hair so it wouldn't tangle to badly and then left to find wherever Sirius and Remus had gone off too. Desperately hoping they weren't still engaged in there previous activities.

He found Remus on the couch with some papers spread out around him a spiral notebook was balanced on his knee and he seemed to be working on something in it. Remus looked up when Harry walked into the room. He blushed a little and it put Harry at ease. At least he wasn't the only one.

"Umm…sorry about…uh…"

"It's alright." Harry responded quickly, and then to change the subject, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Arithmancy." Remus replied. "I'm trying to work out a formula to predict where the next Death Eater attack will be."

Harry's brain usually all but shut down at the word 'Arithmancy', but he was surprised to find this vaguely interesting.

"It's like a formula." Remus continued to explain.

Harry was about to ask about what the strange squiggly stars meant in part of the expression when his stomach betrayed him by making a pleasant grumbling noise.

"Oh, sorry." Remus said, setting the notebook to the side and standing up quickly to usher Harry into the kitchen. "I should have thought."

Sirius was standing in the kitchen in front of the stove and a large pan of something that smelled absolutely incredible. Upon Harry's closer inspection it appeared to be some sort of eggy dish that also involved tomato, onions and ham.

"You can cook?" Harry asked, with real surprise. He wouldn't have imagined Sirius to be the type of person who could cook, but nothing that smelled as good as whatever was in that pan could be bad.

"Course I can, kid. Otherwise we'd live on toast, tea, and pot noodle, 'cause that's all Moony can make." Sirius paused for a moment, and forked a bite of the eggs into his mouth, tasting to make sure they were alright, before saying, with his mouth half-full. "He can make damn good tea, though."

"Mouth closed, Sirius." Remus said from the other end of the kitchen where he was getting down plates. Then he froze, and turned to study Harry's face. Harry, feeling suddenly self-consious, rubbed at his scar for a moment before tilting his head in question.

"Oh. Sorry, nothing." Remus turned back to the cupboard.

It wasn't until they were sitting down to eat that Harry realized what he'd said wrong. It didn't make sense that Harry wouldn't know Sirius could cook. In whatever ideal world this Sirius and Remus imagined lay ahead of them, surely Harry would have eaten with them before. What a tiny mistake he'd made, but how telling it was. Harry sighed. He'd have to be _very _careful.

As they ate, they chatted a little. Sirius and Remus discussed such exciting matters as, what to have for dinner tonight, where Remus's favourite shirt had gone to, who had watered the plants last, and what time Remus would be back from the bookshop he worked at. It was all so eerily domestic that Harry couldn't help but sink lower into his chair.

They had moved on to the riveting subject of who's turn it was to wash the dishes when Sirius's eyes went wide with some realization and he slapped the side of his head.

"James and Lily are supposed to be over for dinner tomorrow. What are we going to do?"

Remus patted Sirius once to calm him and swallowed his mouthful of egg scramble quickly. "I spoke to Dumbledore last night after you were in bed. We'll have to keep Harry with us until he can find the spell that got him stuck here, but he said it'd probably seem suspicious or strange if we suddenly stopped going out anywhere or having James and Lily over, which could jeopardize the Order, so he's sent over a polyjuice potion that'll make him look like one of my cousins. Remember, you met him last Christmas, his mum is French and he's got that weird cowlick hair."

Sirius nodded in understanding. "The one who gave us those weird grey coffee mugs."

"That's the one."

Harry shifted nervously. He was going to be polyjuiced into someone who gave people grey coffee mugs? It didn't seem like the best situation for him.

But…now he'd get to see his parents. He'd get to _meet _his parents. Harry savoured the excited warmth that filled his chest at this thought. How _lucky. _

"What are you doing today, Padfoot?" Remus asked Sirius as he stood to clear the table.

"If it's alright with Harry, I thought we'd got into town and sort out his clothing situation, because he sure as hell can't be comfortable in that." Sirius replied, gesturing to Harry's disturbingly but hugging trousers and overlarge sweater. "It'll work even better now that we've got this polyjuice stuff. I must admit, thought, I'm disappointed I don't get to disguise him up myself."

"God forbid." Remus mumbled before turning to Harry. "You've been awfully quiet, is this alright."

Harry, who had inconveniently just taken a large bite of toast, nodded his head in turn and swallowed thickly. He wasn't exactly meaning to be so silent. He was just slightly terrified of giving too much away.

"Well that's settled then. I'll see you two this evening." Remus said and gave Sirius a peck on the cheek before grabbing a coat and disappearing out of the front door.

Sirius clapped his hands together and a mad grin spread across his face. "Let us also depart, my boy, and they won't know what hit 'em."

Harry couldn't help but smile back at Sirius' eager face…but he couldn't help but worry a little. He hoped going out into the world wasn't a mistake, it seemed like leaving this safety of the flat could result in a lot for future changing situations.

Harry shook his head to remove the thoughts. He was being silly, they'd be just fine.

_To be continued…_

_Review because, ZOMG, I updated!_


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